


Brown Eyes

by RonnieSilverlake



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake/pseuds/RonnieSilverlake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The scream had come from a distance away, barely there; he still had miles to go, but he was too impatient, too terrified to keep conserving his horse's strength. Had he been riding Blaze, he would have already been there. But, then again, had he been riding Blaze, he wouldn't have left Halt's side in the first place.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>A series of short stories centering around Gilan, throughout the events of canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catching Up

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been into this series for a good couple of years, but somehow, it never occurred to me to write fanfic. (Probably because I just finished The Royal Ranger, and then started into the Brotherband Chronicles, lmao.) I have always been enamored with Gilan more than anyone else in the series, I wish Flanagan had more of him around. This fic, which will hopefully comprise of more than just this one snippet, and become a series of short stories, is centered around him, following the canon timeline (more or less). We can never have enough Gilan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for The Ruins of Gorlan.

The discordant, eerie sound of the Stone Flutes that set his teeth on edge still haunted Gilan – it was harder to hear them now, with the wind carrying the sound away, rather than towards him, but it seemed to have stuck itself in his ear as a constant, which now he couldn't get rid of; if he wasn't actually hearing it, then he was imagining it, which, in the end, didn't make all that much of a difference.

He wished he could run, but he knew he had to conserve his energy. Much like a Ranger horse, Rangers themselves, while strong, agile and persistent, couldn't outrun everyone, and Gilan still had a ways to go. He grinded his teeth together at the thought of it – there was a part of him, he found with some mild surprise, that was actually angry, though, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he was simply frustrated at the situation, at his own helplessness, the fact that he was left behind on foot, while Halt and Will were putting themselves into danger (mostly Halt, of course).

He broke into a jog as the farmhouse came into view, then slowed back to a strained walking pace. He was already dangerously exhausted. He'd spent the previous night on his foot – he hadn't quite dared to stop to rest, what with having neither his companions nor Blaze to keep a lookout for him. And he had to catch up to his old mentor anyway – Halt had told him to get a horse, if he could, and so that was what Gilan was determined to do. He'd already lost precious time; he hadn't rested overnight, but he couldn't track as well in the dark, and even if Halt had seemed rather sure that the Kalkara were headed towards the Gorlan Ruins, Gilan was scared to lose the track left by the monsters, and then Abelard.

There was a woman outside the house, hanging laundry to dry on a rope fastened between two trees. Her first reaction was to recoil when she caught sight of the tall Ranger, and were they anywhere else, Gilan would have thought it odd. With the fact that her family lived on the Solitary Plain, not to mention with the Kalkara out and about, it was no wonder she was on edge. Still, he approached without pause, though holding his hands up in a universal sign of meaning no harm. At this point, with the day slowly turning into afternoon, and him not having slept in over thirty hours, maybe he wouldn't even have been able to cause any, he thought wryly.

“Ranger,” she greeted him, her fingers curling into her skirts. It was a testimony of Gilan's exhaustion that he immediately searched for a weapon hidden in the folds, as if she was aiming to stab him when he wasn't looking. Well, better that than being caught unaware. “We don't see a lot of you around here.” _You_ of course being the Rangers as a whole, he knew she'd meant. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a horse,” Gilan told her, squaring his shoulders a little. There was a pause, in which the farmer's wife gave him a long, hard look.

“Truth be told, Ranger, you look like you actually need some rest and a good meal instead,” she finally said, letting go of her skirt to put her hands to her hips Gilan smiled ruefully.

“You're not entirely wrong about that, but right now, that's not important.”

Another pause – it wasn't particularly long, but, to Gilan's overtired mind, it was just enough to contemplate whether she was thinking of a way to double-cross him. Hadn't Halt said the Plainspeople could be in league with the Kalkara? The older Ranger had said he didn't blame them if they were – common folk did whatever they could to just stay alive, especially when it came to those beasts – but that didn't mean Gilan trusted this woman in the slightest. Finally, she said, “We have a horse – but we need him, too.” A small weight seemed to be lifted from Gilan's chest – so _that_ was why she'd hesitated. “My husband is plowing the field with him right now.”

Gilan shifted his weight. Like he had stated to Halt just a couple of hours prior, he really would have happily killed for a cup of coffee. “I would only borrow him for a few days, and I'd pay you for it,” he offered. There was yet another moment in which she was just looking into his eager, honest face, then she nodded.

“Must be important business,” was all she said. “But you'll still have to wait until my husband is back from the field. He'll be back at sundown. You could get some rest until then.”

Gilan wanted to argue, then he realized there was no point. There was less than an hour left until sundown anyway, and on horseback, he could make up for the time he was losing now, waiting here. Besides, he really needed a bit of a rest. Halt was not going to make use of him if he rode into the battle scene and fell from the saddle in front of the Kalkara.

He followed the woman into the house, where he was sat at the kitchen table, with a simple but wonderful smelling spice soup set in front of him in five minutes. It seemed to revitalize him. The woman was called Lara, and she was warming up towards him moment by moment, sitting on the other end of the table and watching him eat. Gilan had always had that effect on people.

“I never saw a Ranger carry a sword,” she said at one point, glancing to his side, where his weapon hung. Gilan simply flashed her a disarming smile, finding it now came a little more easily.

“I'm special that way.”

As the sun was beginning to paint the land into a deep orange colour, the door opened, and as Gilan turned to see the new arrival, he froze up for a moment. Then, he was at his feet before the man had time to react, pushing him against the wall, his saxe knife at his throat. Lara gasped. “You,” Gilan said, his voice ice cold, “are the man we saw. You ran from us. Where did you go? Who did you tell about us?”

It was all too easy to ignore the frightened woman behind his back. Gilan was galvanized into action by the sheer opportunity to finally do something worthwhile, other than run after his friends fruitlessly. There was a part of him that was smarting in silence; he knew Halt had been right, that he had devised the best plan of action, that Gilan would have been of little help to him compared to Baron Arald and Sir Rodney. Still, that small part of him that he neatly tucked away, not to be examined until this whole mess was over, was seething with it – not quite injustice, because for all the years he'd known Halt, the older Ranger had never made the wrong decision, even if things didn't always turn out splendid – but the feeling of inadequacy. Perhaps he could squeeze some information from this man, considering he had done him the favour of not shooting him in the back earlier as he disappeared in the tall grass. Perhaps he could find out where the real lair of the Kalkara was; perhaps he could catch up with Halt and bring him something useful. Perhaps, perhaps.

The man gasped for air, his eyes widening in fear. He tried to say something; Gilan loosened the knife. There was still a possibility that the simple farmer wasn't in league with any monster, and if it was so, he didn't want to harm him. The farmer swallowed and started, “I'm not–…”

Then Gilan felt an enormous hit to the side of his head, and everything went dark.

* * *

When he woke, he was laying on a wooden bench, half propped up on one of its arms, a leg hanging off the side. His head was pounding, and when he opened his eyes, at first, he saw stars and nothing else. Something wet was pressing against his temple; a droplet was rolling down into his ear.

“Oh, he's up,” he heard someone say. “Thought it'd take longer, but he's a young lad.” Gilan recognized it as the Plainsman.

“Shouldn't we have tied him, Rob?” Lara's voice came from much closer, which made Gilan realize she was the one applying the cold, wet bandage to his head. He wasn't sure what to make of that – or any of her reactions altogether. It was quite plain that it had been her who'd hit him across the head with something heavy, and she was now suggesting to tie him up, but at the same time, he could feel the gentle press of her applied cooling on his bruise.

“Don't be ridiculous. He wasn't going to kill me, an' he certainly isn't going to _now_.”

Gilan sat up so quickly that the wet bandage dropped into his lap, and he felt so dizzy he thought his stomach might turn upside down. The room came into sharp focus in a couple of moments, and he took in the sight of Lara crouching on the floor next to the bench, and her husband Rob sitting at the other end of the dining table. It took another moment for the tall Ranger to realize he didn't have any of his weapons on him. Rob took in the gesture of him scrambling at his side for his sword, and gave a small shrug.

“Sorry, Ranger. I didn't want to tie you, but I wanted a chance to actually speak, before you wanna stick something sharp in me again.”

It was only now that Gilan took a really close look at him – and the more he did so, the more his shame grew. He usually wasn't one to jump to conclusions so hastily; it was probably another sign of his exhaustion, and it was utterly unbecoming. Rob could have killed him. If he were in league with the Kalkara, he probably would have. Even now, as Gilan had shot up into a sitting position, he didn't even flinch; he just sat there and looked at him, waiting for him to make the next move. There was a faint red mark at his throat where Gilan's knife had pressed against his skin.

“I'm sorry,” Gilan said sincerely. There was no humiliation in an honest apology. “I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Please explain.”

Rob rubbed his cheek. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I suppose the easiest is if I just answer your question. That is, I warned no one about you lot – I honestly just didn't want to get into your Ranger business, especially considering all the rumours.” Gilan wasn't completely sure whether he meant the Kalkara, or the general secrecy and mystery revolving around Rangers, but either way, what the Plainsman was saying made sense.

“You know we could've shot you, right?” he asked, raising a hand to press against his forehead. His whole skull seemed to be throbbing with pain, and his stomach didn't want to settle. Did he have a concussion? But Rob was grinning and shaking his head.

“Didn't think you would. Hadn't done nothing wrong. That's what I just told the wife; that you don't kill without cause.”

Now Gilan was found marveling at the odd trust this man seemed to have in Rangers, whom most common farmfolk didn't trust. But instead of voicing that, he asked, “What did she hit me with?”

“A frying pan,” Lara answered, and when Gilan looked at her, she pointed to the stove, where she had apparently replaced the incriminating object. It was a heavy iron pan with a massive wooden grip. No wonder his head was throbbing so badly.

“Where are my weapons?” he wanted to know next, and the pair of them exchanged another glance.

“Asks a lot of questions, this Ranger does,” Rob said, smiling.

“My name is Gilan,” Gilan replied without thinking. The two of them smiled at him. Oddly, it was this gesture, which should have put him at ease, that made him tense up even further. Suddenly, he was aware of everything he'd forgotten for a minute or two; the fact that Halt was out there hunting the Kalkara, and he, Gilan, needed to catch up to him as quickly as he could. He felt panic flood him as he looked out the window and realized it was now dark outside – for all he knew, he could have been out for hours; Halt could have already found the Kalkara, he could have been dead. “I really need my weapons. Where are they? And that horse. How long was I out?”

This time, there was no joking about the onslaught of questions; the pair seemed to sense Gilan's mounting anxiety. “Just a bit over ten minutes,” Lara said gently, laying a hand on the tall Ranger's forearm. “And there's everything,” she added, pointing to a chair next to the door, where everything of his was laid; the sword, the double scabbard with the knives, his bow and his quiver. For a moment, Gilan allowed himself to breathe. “Rob will saddle the horse for you. You don't need to pay anything, just bring him back soon.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. “No, I owe you for hurting you. Even if you did threaten my husband,” she added, tilting her head slightly. Gilan allowed himself a smile as he armed himself again, then walked out to meet Rob and the now saddled plowhorse.

“Well, he ain't no Ranger horse,” Rob said, turning to the pair of them, and Gilan felt a sudden, stabbing ache at the thought of Blaze. “But he'll get you wherever you need to be.” The question was only, Gilan thought, whether he would do it fast enough. “His name's Duck.” Gilan felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but he simply walked up to Duck, and swung himself up into the saddle. Duck was a little taller than Tug and Abelard, almost taller than Blaze as well. He definitely wasn't fast, but he was strong – as a plowhorse ought to be. He looked back down to the farmer and his wife – and didn't quite know what to say.

He nudged the horse in the sides with his heels, and he broke into a slow canter, leaving the farmhouse behind in a matter of minutes, his throat tight with mounting anxiety and a mixture of other feelings he did not want to examine too closely.

* * *

 

The farmhouse had been a slight detour, but Gilan felt a bit more rested now, not quite as worried about losing his trail as he had been. It was a little ridiculous to think about that he'd gotten his rest from being knocked in the head, but he was going to take what he could get. It wasn't going to last long anyway, the tall Ranger knew that from experience. He knew that once this was over, and he was down from the seemingly constant adrenaline high, he would crash, and he would crash hard. But he wasn't going to let that happen before it **was** , in fact, over and done with. _Before he knew Halt was all right._

Once he found the previous track he had been following, he allowed Duck to pick his own course, so long as he didn't deviate too much from their general direction, and allowed himself a few minutes' dozing in the saddle here and there. Still, he never slowed the horse to a walk, and they maintained a steady pace that Duck could keep even with Gilan on his back.

As time stretched, however, this meant that Gilan's thoughts were able to roam free, the part of his mind that wasn't preoccupied with constantly scanning his surroundings. He couldn't let go of the ball of fear in the pit of his stomach, that he would be arriving too late. Of course, when he thought about it realistically, he knew he was probably going to. The real question wasn't whether he would catch up in time – it was whether _Will_ would. That was why Gilan had lent him Blaze – something he had never done before for anyone. Not even Halt had ever ridden her, albeit he knew her code word (no surprise, considering he was the one who had got Gilan his Ranger horse in the first place). Whether he saw the logic in it or not, it wasn't something he had done with ease.

Gilan liked Will. That much had been established for a while now. Halt's new apprentice was resourceful, quick-witted, funny, but also polite and kind. There was just that one small detail that Gilan was still wrapping his head around – that he was _Halt's new apprentice_ . It hadn't been that long ago that Gilan had graduated and got his own fief to look after. The last year's annual Gathering had been the first one he'd arrived by himself. He'd barely been wearing the silver oakleaf for two years now. It wasn't that he didn't feel up to the job (although he did remember the mounting panic of the couple of weeks before his graduation; the time when he had believed he would never, _ever_ be ready) – but there were certain things to miss about being Halt's apprentice, the most prominent of which was _Halt_ himself.

Of course, it was a bit different, Gilan reasoned. He had come from a steady background; he still had a loving father even now, even if his duty called him to an entirely different part of Araluen. He hadn't needed Halt's guidance back then as much as he needed his skill – but that didn't mean they hadn't developed a close bond throughout Gilan's apprenticeship. Will, on the other hand, was an orphan, and although Halt certainly wasn't going to admit it, Gilan could already see that the bond between them was becoming something of a surrogate father-son relationship.

And now they were going to fight the Kalkara together (or, worse, Halt was going to do it on his own), and Gilan wouldn't be there.

* * *

 

It was around midnight that he first heard the screaming – that blood-curdling, ululating shriek that he instinctively knew meant the Kalkara were hunting. It made him freeze in terror – it was a good thing Duck carried on on his way, or else they would have stood there for minutes. Suddenly, he knew with debilitating certainty that they were hunting Halt. He could only hope Halt realized it too – but surely, he did. Halt was everything but stupid.

He simply couldn't bear it any longer. He **had to** get there. The scream had come from a distance away, barely there; he still had miles to go, but he was too impatient, too terrified to keep conserving his horse's strength. Had he been riding Blaze, he would have already been there. But, then again, had he been riding Blaze, he wouldn't have left Halt's side in the first place. He urged Duck into a gallop, and then full-out run, even though they still had hours to go. In his mind, he saw various worst case scenarios playing out; the ways he would find Halt's lifeless body, or maybe Will's, or both, or even Arald's and Rodney's – _no_ , he couldn't keep thinking like this, he had the utmost faith in Halt, and – and, really, he had faith in Will, too, when he thought about it, he could imagine the two of them side by side, and he had to realize that Halt couldn't have chosen a better apprentice for himself. Perhaps Gilan wasn't completely above the feeling of slight jealousy, but he had never been a spiteful person by nature, and what was there not to like about Will?

Some time after the moon had set, the screaming stopped. Gilan realized he had to stop; Duck wasn't going to last much longer if he carried on like this, and it was so dark he could barely make out his surroundings. The Kalkara really couldn't have chosen a better time for this. Then Gilan realized, with a jolt of pain in his chest, that it was in fact _them_ who had chosen this time to go after those monsters. He grit his teeth as he dropped to the ground from the saddle, loosening the straps on the saddle a little bit, then leaning against the horse's neck, and just breathing for a few moments, exhausted and scared, listening to his surroundings until they both calmed. Of course, they couldn't have afforded to give Morgarath more time to get rid of the army's high officials this way, but Gilan still wished they could have waited. He hated this darkness; the way it closed up on him, suffocating, taking the last vestiges of his hope away that he would find his mentor alive, as the total silence finally settled.

This last thought was what made him snap out of his daze. It was merely an illusion. Who knew, maybe the sounds had stopped because Halt had killed both the Kalkara. Gilan had nothing but his hope, so he would hold onto that. He promised himself this as he tightened the straps again, climbing back onto Duck's back, and urging him to one last effort. Standing around and wondering would do nobody any good.

It was just a few minutes before daybreak when the Gorlan Ruins came into sight. Gilan wanted to spur Duck into one last run, but he knew the faithful little horse was at his strength's end. He dropped down from the saddle to the ground, and ran as fast as he could, with Duck staggering in behind him, slipping a little on the broken stones and debris of what once used to be the outer wall of Castle Gorlan. Gilan's heart was in his throat as he waited for the Kalkara to spring out from a corner at any moment, his sword drawn at the ready – but no such thing happened. Instead, he soon became aware of a burning bonfire (though it was mostly a low glow of embers now), with a charred corpse of what he realized, after the first lurch of fright, to actually be one of the Kalkara rather than a human; and then, not soon afterward he spotted the other carcass, burnt to a crisp, with an arrow sticking out of its back. For a moment, Gilan had to stop to marvel at this – had Halt killed it with a single arrow?

He didn't have a lot of time to wonder, however. Someone yelled his name, and as he turned, he saw Will waving at him from a makeshift camp a few hundred metres away. The relief was mounting by the second, but Gilan needed one last reassurance. “Where's Halt?” he asked, breathless, as soon as he arrived next to Will. He didn't need an answer, however. Halt was lying on the ground on a bedroll, his leg covered in bandages – but his chest rising and falling steadily.

“He'll be fine,” Will said next to him in a quiet voice – and the next moment, Gilan was dropping to his knees on the ground next to his teacher, gripping his hand tightly, and trying to turn in an angle so that the young apprentice wouldn't see the tears rapidly falling from his eyes. He wanted to ask what had happened, he wanted to ask so many things – but he didn't trust he could do so without his voice breaking, and so he just knelt there, weeping from the sheer relief that they were all alive.

Will didn't need to see his face to know, though. He also didn't need to be asked. He started telling everything that had happened at the ruins, and by the time he was finished, Gilan had his composure back. If there was still a sheen in his eyes still when he turned around to face Will, they could both pretend otherwise. “You did that?” he asked, and he saw the other fidget a little bit, obviously uncomfortable. Still, he pressed on – and there was a certain awe in his voice as he did so. “You killed the second one on your own?”

“It wasn't that hard – I mean, with the fire arrow, anyway – I mean,” Will stammered, his cheeks reddening. “Their attention wasn't on me, and I was far away, and – ”

Gilan, without stopping to think, pressed his palm against the boy's mouth. There was a soft smile on his face that Will had never seen before – he looked proud, relieved, happy, and grateful all at once. “Will,” he said, with all the seriousness he could muster. He could have voiced all those previous feelings that were currently welling up in his chest; but he found there was one thing he really needed to say. “Thank you.”

And with that, he rose to his feet, and pulled Will into a strong, brotherly hug. If the boy started shaking like a leaf in his arms after a few seconds, they could both pretend otherwise. Gilan really couldn't fault him – shooting from a distance or not, he had been through a terrible ordeal, and Halt was out cold, unable to provide the mental support, the feeling of safety, that things would now be all right, that he was otherwise so good at giving. For now, Gilan was all too content to step into that role for a couple of minutes, his grip strong and secure around Will's shoulders until the trembling stopped. Then Will mumbled something unintelligible, and Gilan let go of him, peering down at him curiously.

“What was that?”

The boy looked up, smiling up at him. This smile seemed a little different from the previous; a little less guarded, more genuine. It occurred to Gilan that he may not have been the only one who kept his true feelings close to his heart about the other. “Thank you for letting me ride Blaze,” Will said. And as if hearing she was being talked about, the mare trotted up to them, and nudged her rider in the shoulder – to which Gilan completely unabashedly turned around and threw his arms around his horse's neck.

“Well, I'm not going to say it was my pleasure,” he said to Will, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Will grinned at him a little sheepishly. “I wouldn't have expected you to.”

 


	2. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's only a year,_ was what he had been telling himself repetitively, like it was some sort of mantra. It didn't work now. It felt like his chest was compressed, and yet his heart wanted to wriggle its way through his ribs and jump outside.
> 
> (Spoilers for The Burning Bridge and The Battle for Skandia. A few things paraphrased.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so now we know about the whole Foldar business, but there were a lot of other things regarding Gilan's role around that time that I decided to play around with. For example, how did the news of Halt's exile get to Horace fast enough for him to catch up before Halt got to the border? Also, why wasn't Gilan there to welcome them home, if everyone else got the news? (I also have a few vague ideas about what he may have been doing after he practically wrapped Foldar up in a week, but that will have to be yet another chapter.)

There was a line in the knee-high grass. A line that spanned some twenty or so metres, from one tree to the other on the edge of the small forest. Around it, the grass stood erect, but in that straight line, it was lying flat where the soles of shoes had trodden on them repeatedly. Gilan was nearing in on the hundredth turn in his agitated pacing, the bottom edges of his mottled green cloak billowing after him as he went. Blaze was following him with her gaze with slight anxiety, sensing the unrest tormenting the young Ranger. Normally, noticing the way the horse was reacting would have been enough for Gilan to regulate himself, but he was simply too wound up to pay attention. Were he to be ambushed while in this headspace, it would have been a disaster – but thankfully, there was very little chance of a King's Ranger being ambushed in plain sight of Castle Araluen.

He was deeply regretting his decision to stay behind now. For how patient he could usually be, waiting now was agonizing. How could he think sitting around waiting was a good idea while the harshest of possible judgements was passed down to his mentor?! But then, he once again returned to his original line of thought as he rounded the right side tree again; he couldn't have stood witnessing it either. Besides,  _Halt_ wouldn't have wanted him to witness it, would he? At least, that was what Gilan thought, and he liked to think he knew his old teacher well enough.

_Then again_ , he thought, maybe he didn't know Halt at all. It was like a stab in the heart to think that way, and yet… Gilan simply didn't understand what had happened. What could have possibly overcome Halt to publicly badmouth the King and break the oath he had sworn?! To start off with, what had overcome him to  _ drink _ ? Halt had, for as long as Gilan had known him, disliked any kind of alcohol, unless it was a healthy glug of wine added to a simmering stew. He valued keeping his wits about himself far more than to allow himself to become inebriated. Halt, drunk? Gilan simply couldn't imagine it. There had to be another explanation. Maybe the information that reached the young Ranger was garbled, facts mixed up. It couldn't be right – and if it wasn't, Duncan would set it all right.

But then, the bringer of the devastating news was none other than Crowley. And while many things could be said about the Corps Commandant, his word was something a Ranger could always take at face value.

(It was just that Gilan really, really didn't  _want_ to.)

He reached the tree on the far end of the small road he had set himself yet again, and turned back yet another time. Blaze was still eyeing him, and Gilan had to take a moment to once again affiliate himself with his surroundings, return to the present. He stepped to his horse, patting her on the neck calmingly – but then he returned to his pacing, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he mulled over the recent events yet another time, trying to see the logic in the madness of it all.

He was past the one hundred and fifty mark when the answer came to him. In hindsight, it was a rather simple, clear one. If he assumed that Halt acted in possession of his full wit and intention, then it stood to reason that he had a purpose. And what purpose could he have? The one purpose he had set his mind to weeks ago; to finally set out to find his lost apprentice. Gilan was all too aware that Crowley had said no to Halt – he had said the same to Gilan himself.

This, this was the core of everything.

* * *

 

_(A couple of weeks prior.)_

Gilan thought he knew fear. He had looked death in the eye several times, gotten out of quite a few tight spots, both as Halt's apprentice, and on his own. But this, this was a whole new kind of sheer terror – a fear that made his limbs go numb, his mouth dry, his eyes sting. He watched, like the rest of the Araluan army, with his breath held, as Morgarath, the Lord of Rain and Night, issued a challenge of knighthood, choosing to exact his ages-old revenge on Halt, who had thwarted his plans one too many times. That alone would not have been reason enough for Gilan to feel fear; Halt may not have been a knight, but he had his own ways of fighting, and Gilan had the utmost faith in him – frankly, perhaps a little more than would have been reasonable, but that was just the way old apprentices were where their masters were concerned.

No, the fear gripped his heart at Morgarath's sudden taunt.

“ _Did I mention that we have one of your Ranger brats as a prisoner? So small, we nearly threw him back. But I've decided to keep him for torture instead. That will make one less sneaking, hiding spy in the future.”_

As Gilan saw the blood drain from Halt's face, so did his own heart falter. Fear was one thing on its own – but mixed with inevitable guilt, it was all but  **crippling** .

If Morgarath had Will, it was his, Gilan's fault, at least partially. Of course, he had done what needed to be done for the war to be won, but the fact still stood that he had left Will to his own devices in Celtica. In this moment, there was no level-headed reasoning. Only years later would Gilan be able to admit that everything concerning that mission, the message he brought, the burning of the bridge, Will and the Princess being captured, went the way it had to go in order for the kingdom to be saved from total demolition. (Years later, he would also know that the same sequence of events was what also led to the victory against the Temujai, which would also be just as instrumental for keeping Araluen's peace as it would be for Skandia itself.) But right now, the only thing he could think about was,  _I shouldn't have left him_ .

“You did the right thing,” said a quiet voice next to him, and he was surprised to find Crowley having ridden up to him unnoticed. Oddly, the Commandant had a penchant for guessing what was on Gilan's mind with almost as much accuracy as Halt could. “Let it unfold. We'll get him back yet.”

Of course, a few moments later, when Horace galloped out into the open and challenged Morgarath to single combat, Crowley was much less inclined to just  _let things unfold_ , but all the same, Gilan was left wondering, with a bitter taste in his mouth, why doing the right thing always came with an unforeseen price.

* * *

 

Two hundred laps. If a tracker happened upon these marks in the grass half a day later, he might think an army passed here. (Of course, the tracker would have to be mediocre not to notice the line only spanned a few metres, but even so, the grass would take a while to stand back up.) Gilan had to periodically remind himself to stop chewing the inside of his cheek, or it would be bloody before Crowley returned. The doubt was eating away at him like plague. Would Halt be executed? Surely not – he was one of Duncan's closest advisors, a friend to the King, even. His hands were tied where punishment was concerned, but he could choose, and he would not choose death on the head of one of his most loyal servants, even if that very loyalty seemed to be in question. (Gilan knew it really wasn't – but would Duncan realize that?)

Not that the other option seemed preferable by much. The young Ranger's throat constricted just thinking about it.  _Banishment._ The law was quite clear; it was either death, or that. In this moment, at his two hundred and thirteenth semi-circle around a tree, Gilan realized he wasn't waiting for a  _favourable_ outcome. He was waiting for devastation either way. No matter what happened, he would have to say goodbye to Halt.

His steps faltered, and he very nearly fell over his own feet rather unceremoniously. Fortunately, before he would have had enough time to actually dwell on this horrible realization, Crowley turned up.

Blaze gave a small, warning whinny, and Gilan, whose nerves were more than frayed already, barely managed not to snap his head in her direction. Instead, he regained his balance, leaning against the tree he was standing next to, and then ceasing all movement, blurring into his surrounding the way Rangers were trained to do (and he was one of the very best). But it served no real purpose this time. From Cropper's back, Crowley was already waving in his general direction, and Gilan, as tempting as it was to just remain where he was (a childish notion, but he really couldn't help feeling this way; maybe,  _maybe_ if he stayed here, not knowing what happened to Halt, they could all pretend nothing  _had_ happened), swung into Blaze's saddle with a sigh, his heart sinking as he rode out from the copse of trees to meet his Commandant.

“Banishment,” Crowley said as a greeting, knowing Gilan's nerves were already stiff as a drawn bowstring, not wanting to make him wait any longer for the answer. Then, as the younger man's face fell, the full implications hitting him, he added in a softer voice, “For a year.”

“What?” Gilan exclaimed, shocked surprise saturating his voice. His fingers gripped the reins. He suddenly felt a bit faint.

Crowley actually managed a smile, albeit it didn't seem to have any happiness in it. “Twelve months of banishment, starting today.” He paused for a moment, then as they finally drew level of each other, he reached out, and grasped his young comrade on the upper arm to steady him. “He'll come back,” he said reassuringly.

Gilan bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making a sound, knowing it would have probably been a sob. This time, he did draw blood.

* * *

 

As Halt had two days to leave the country, naturally, Gilan wanted to spend one last evening with him. But Crowley held him back.  _You have something more important to do_ , he told him. And Gilan, however much his heart ached, however much he wished he could go with Halt all the way, help him get Will back, realized the sense in the senior Ranger's words. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realized he actually quite liked this plan. After all, if he couldn't go with his mentor himself, he would at least know he was entrusting the task to a worthy person – one who had just as much of a personal interest in the entire quest as Gilan and Halt did.

“So that's what it all was about,” was all Horace said as the tall Ranger recounted the events of the past couple of days. “I couldn't imagine what was going on. I only heard bits and pieces from Sir Rodney. Banished for a year, you say?”

“He's going to look for Will,” Gilan said, ignoring the stab of heartache at the word _banished_. There was a moment of silence, in which he cast around for a good way to phrase what he was going to ask. But, unusually, Horace beat him to the punchline. The apprentice warrior was, most of the time, half a step behind the Rangers as far as quick thinking was concerned. But this time, the answer to the unsaid question was so obvious, it was practically staring them in the face, and the desire burst from Horace before he could have thought twice about it.

“I want to go with him.” He paused for a moment, suddenly uncertain, and he looked at Gilan, whom he'd grown to regard as a mentor throughout their time in Celtica, now deferring to him the same way he deferred to Sir Rodney, though with a hint less formality. “But that's impossible, right?” Gilan didn't respond, and after another moment or two of silence, he added, “Isn't it?” Gilan opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Part of it was the sheer surprise he felt over the fact that Horace figured it all out so quickly, but there was also the fact that it was, ultimately, better if he didn't influence the boy. “You think I could?” Horace asked, now emboldened by the silence. “I probably could,” he said then, now more thinking out loud than talking to the other. Gilan allowed himself a tiny grin. “You said Halt wasn't let go because he's really important, but I'm really not, so…”

“Don't sell yourself short,” Gilan interrupted this time, but as Horace looked at him, there was still that smile on his lips that told the Battleschool apprentice he was being teased, and Gilan was actually approving of his line of thought.

“Okay, then,” Horace finally said, coming to a decision. The momentary lightness of the conversation passed as his expression settled into determination. “I'm going to go with Halt and get Will back.”

There was something in his voice that gave Gilan pause. He couldn't quite put a finger to it, but he had the distinct impression that Horace was thinking more than he was saying. He quirked an eyebrow at the boy, and the other met his gaze, shoulders squaring as he drew in a deep breath.

“I had to stand by and watch him and Evanlyn be taken, Gilan. I couldn't do a thing for them.” Gilan could tell what it was now; frustration. “I'm never going to let that happen again.”

Later, when Gilan was riding back to Araluen Fief to meet up with Crowley and say their goodbyes to Halt together, he thought it was probably a testament to Will, to how much they all cared about him, that they all felt guilty in their own way.

Blaze, as if sensing what was going through her master's mind, tossed her head lightly as she slowed to a canter when the castle came into sight.  _Don't be stupid._

At the back of his mind, Gilan thought it was probably what Will himself would have said.

* * *

 

Gilan was glad Crowley was here. Being the Corps Commandant meant he had to know how to find words when nobody else wanted to talk. Gilan found that pretty useful in this moment, as he was hanging back half a step, hunched slightly in Blaze's saddle, not even capable of properly meeting his mentor's eyes. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think straight.  _It's only a year_ , was what he had been telling himself repetitively, like it was some sort of mantra. It didn't work now. It felt like his chest was compressed, and yet his heart wanted to wriggle its way through his ribs and jump outside. Halt's face was an unreadable mask; never mind that Gilan had been watching him for years, there was nothing he could make out now. The look he gave the younger Ranger was almost cold, and Gilan's throat was so tight, it was a wonder he could swallow, never mind talking.

He watched the silver pendant drop into Crowley's outstretched hand as in slow motion, the chain coiling down as Halt let go of it. “It's a small matter,” Halt said, and Gilan saw Crowley's jaw set into rigidity. It hurt to hear it, even if the young Ranger knew deep down that it was all a front. It really wouldn't have helped anyone if Halt lost his composure too, and somewhere, Gilan only admired him even more for it, considering that  _he_ was barely holding it together.

And then, before he could catch up with the turn of events, Crowley was galloping away, and Gilan was left on his own with Halt, the other man staring at him with a smile like he knew the world was falling apart. And Gilan, seeing that sad, all-knowing smile that seemed to reach right down to his very core, felt like a child again. His next words were proof of it; the offer he made to go with Halt wasn't a thought out, reasonable decision. He was feeling like everything he loved and cherished was slipping through his fingers, and he made one last, desperate attempt to catch up with them, to have some control over what he couldn't really do anything more about. He couldn't hide the fact anymore that he felt responsible for what happened to Will, and there was nothing Halt could say right now that would alleviate the guilt. The only thing that could help was if Will came home safely – and Gilan realized, with some surprise, that the foolish notion of wanting to be a part of it was perhaps less childish than one may think; he didn't like the thought of putting all his faith in someone else anymore, not even if that someone else was Halt, the person who, for the better half of his apprenticehood, had seemed invincible.

And now, not only was he telling Gilan to leave it to him, that he couldn't come along, he also added the weight of his own belief. A small part of Gilan couldn't help but think,  _that's a low blow_ , but at the same time, he knew Halt was right. He was needed here, so that Halt could leave without having the added worry of Foldar and Araluen's safety on his mind. It was unfair, but Gilan accepted it without further questioning – this was the way it had to be.

Of course, that didn't stop the steady flow of tears that started as soon as Halt turned and rode away.

* * *

 

_(49 weeks later.)_

Again, Gilan was wearing a line into the grass.

They were late.

Of course, it  **would** happen this way; the only time he really wanted to be somewhere, he couldn't even make it in time to hear about the event before it happened. Truthfully, he hadn't expected it to happen when it did; there were still three weeks left of Halt's banishment (of course, he counted the days), and even if in hindsight he realized King Duncan was going to pardon him whenever he returned with the Princess, somehow, Gilan had taken to thinking it would happen precisely when the one year was up.

By the time the message reached him, there was no point in going to Castle Araluen; the whole thing would have been over already. Instead, he decided to come back to Castle Redmont, waiting for Halt and Will to come home to their cabin in the woods, the cabin that had been his own home for a good half decade. They were supposed to arrive today. And they were late.

All in all, the past year hadn't been one of Gilan's best ones. After wrapping up the business with Foldar, life in Araluen had pretty much gone back to normal – and somehow, with Halt gone,  _normal_ seemed to equal  _dull_ . It didn't really make sense, the young Ranger thought, after all, it wasn't like he and Halt worked together much anymore. He wasn't his apprentice now; he had his own fief to take care of, and even when Halt had been around, doing his own job, it wasn't unusual for them not to meet more frequently than once every couple of months, if that. Now, with the knowledge that he was looking forward to a whole year (and a Gathering to boot) without his old mentor's presence in his life, his subtle guidance, the thought that he was only a few days' ride away if Gilan really needed him, things seemed rather bleak.

Which was exactly why, now that he knew they were returning home today, Gilan felt like he could not wait  _one second_ longer. Not while sitting still, anyway, hence his restless pacing, to which Blaze had finally gotten used to – or, at least, resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing she could do to dispel the restlessness her companion felt.

Gilan's steps faltered for a moment when the bay tossed her head and whinnied softly. The Ranger came to a halt, his head tilting to the side as he listened. Hoofbeats. Of course, it would have been impossible to tell how many, as Ranger horses were trained to match their pace to their companions', so as to mask their numbers by sound, but Gilan knew there had to be two. His heart leapt into his throat as they turned the last corner on the small winding path; mentor and student riding next to each other. Coming home.

Like many months ago, when he'd last faced Halt, Gilan found his throat too tight for words as the man landed in front of him, having jumped lightly from the saddle to the ground. In a surprising moment that Gilan couldn't remember ever happening before, it was the elder Ranger initiating the embrace, pulling him close without a moment of hesitation, so that Gilan barely had time to mutter “Welcome home,” before the wind was driven from his lungs by the impact.

When they let go, and the younger Ranger looked around, he realized Will was still sitting in the saddle, watching them with a small, timid smile on his face. Gilan was suddenly painfully aware of the realization that it had been over a year since they'd last seen each other. It was in Celtica, and Gilan was riding away, leaving Will to his own devices. Gilan couldn't help but wonder if they were thinking about the same thing. Will had gotten thinner since then, more… worn. Even now, knowing everything had worked out, it hurt a bit. And again, unthinking, Gilan did what felt right. It really wasn't hard to reach up; he was tall by Ranger standards, and their horses weren't; he could reach up to Will's sides with relative ease, the boy barely having enough time to free his shoes of the stirrups before he was lifted off Tug's back, into Gilan's bone-crushing hug. “You absolute  _fool_ ,” Gilan said, his voice catching in his throat, and Will couldn't help but laugh, his toes barely touching the ground.

“Put me down,” he demanded, but there wasn't a lot of fire behind it. If there was one person he had still longed to see amidst all the happiness of his coming home, it was Gilan.

Gilan obeyed, but he gave him one more squeeze before letting go, his eyes shining a little as he looked at the boy he'd grown to love as a little brother. “Only you could get away with doing something so utterly reckless and  _surviving_ , not to mention saving the kingdom to boot.” Gilan had only heard tiny fractions of everything, the most important happenings, but nothing more. He could easily imagine how tall the tales would grow in the coming years, knowing that common folks would gather even less, and make up the rest with what they thought might be true. The name Will Treaty was already something of a scandal throughout the kingdom. “Will,” he started, and then faltered, not quite knowing what he even wanted to say. The one-year-old regret he carried suddenly seemed confusing, especially when he noticed the way Halt was smiling quietly at the pair of them.

Will decided to forestall him. “Is there coffee? I'm parched. There's  _so much_ we need to tell you, Gil!”

His eyes said the rest. There was a ghost of pain in them, a mark of things he'd gone through, but they were shining, full of life, and suddenly, Gilan felt nothing but  _relief_ . On the outside, though, his expression turned into one of indignation.

“ _Is there coffee?_ ” he repeated in mock offense. “What do you think?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and constructive criticism are very welcome! As I said, this is my first time writing Gilan (or any of the RA characters, for that matter), and hearing what you thought about it, if you've read this far, would absolutely make my day.


End file.
